


with blood stains on his hands, the silver kissed him with scars so heavy

by cherryvaleska



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s04e16 One of My Three Soups, Gay Sex, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mild Blood, Minor Character Death, Pet Names, Possessive Behavior, Size Difference, Trans Male Character, bc what else can you expect when jerome is involved, minor choking but like. very minor., some minor praise kink too, there's also talk of some mild gore but that's just jerome for you. he's such a weird guy, which one of them could it be? the mind boggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:55:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25239589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvaleska/pseuds/cherryvaleska
Summary: "There must be something trulywrongwith you for you to want to save someone like me, after everything I’ve done." He rubs his lips against Bruce’s throat as if he’s searching for something and he makes a pleased sound when he seems to find it. His tongue drags across Bruce’s skin, hot and wet, and Bruce’s heart hammers against his chest. The edge of the table digs sharply into his lower back as Jerome presses even closer to him."Jerome-"Bruce cuts off with a sharp inhale when Jerome's hand suddenly grasps him through his pants."Even so, I think you deserve a reward."
Relationships: Jerome Valeska/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 16
Kudos: 84





	with blood stains on his hands, the silver kissed him with scars so heavy

**Author's Note:**

> i'm extremely pretentious even when writing porn so yes this is over 6k words. it wouldn't of worked if i split it into two chapters so you guys get over 14 pages of this. i've been working on this bitch since june y'all cannot BELIEVE how glad i am to finally finish and post it. this is the first time i've written fic in years, so it was nice to finally get something down. thank you FOX for inspiring me with your horny ginger bastard.
> 
> also i didn't really want to tag it as such in the tags (hence why i chose to use gay sex) but this is technically vaginal sex. if that's not your thing then here's your warning. 
> 
> fic title from jerome by zella day.

Bruce doesn’t know how it happened. Not really. It had all snowballed so fast once it started. Arriving at the diner, finding Jerome at his uncle’s and his henchman’s mercy, Jerome gasping, gagging and blistering under the soup his uncle had dumped on him, and then the fight that had broken out afterwards. 

_Nobody ever helped me. Ever._

Jerome killing his uncle. Jerome letting Bruce struggle with fighting the man Bruce had just saved him from, before Jerome grew bored or impatient or whatever reason he’d had to put a bullet in that man’s head as well.

“You didn’t have to kill them.” Bruce had sternly said as he got to his feet, rubbing his throat and wincing. Neither of them had been good people and Zachary had been a horrible, cruel man, but still, it wasn’t necessary and it wasn’t right. 

“Uh, yeah, I did.” Jerome had rasped like it was obvious, the damage left behind by the burns making his voice even rougher than it usually was. “Zach deserved what he got, and that guy?” Jerome gestured to the second body with his gun, shrugging. “Eh, well, never cared for him much anyway, he wasn’t very funny. But! If he killed you then how was I supposed to thank you properly?” 

“Thank me properly?” 

And then, one moment he and Jerome had been far apart, and the next, Jerome was crowding him against one of the table booths, Jerome was touching him, Jerome was _kissing_ him, and Bruce knows that it’s wrong, that he should push Jerome away and subdue him and wait for Jim and Selina-- oh God, _Selina,_ she can’t see this _\--_ to arrive. 

But instead, he can’t help it. 

He finds himself closing his eyes and reciprocating, letting Jerome push him back against the table, letting Jerome’s hands lay wherever Jerome wants them to - one on Bruce’s hip and the other obscenely rubbing over Bruce’s chest. Jerome’s hands are so _big,_ the hand on his chest takes up such a large space that it sends a shiver down Bruce’s spine. He wonders how big the difference would be if he put their hands together. 

It’s an intimate thought and Bruce pushes it aside to focus on the now, letting his hands move up to curl into fiery ginger locks, pulling Jerome in even closer, if possible. 

He tries to be gentle at first -- or well, as much as he can be -- mindful of the surely aching blisters on Jerome’s lower lip and jaw, but Jerome will have none of it. He’s all teeth and tongue, biting at Bruce’s lips and sliding his tongue inside when Bruce gasps at the sting of his skin splitting. Jerome _moans_ as if Bruce’s blood is the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted, sucking at Bruce’s lower lip and smoothing his tongue over the bleeding spots. They stay like that for longer than Bruce would have thought anyone could, Jerome dominating his mouth and Bruce clinging onto him and trying to keep up. 

Jerome’s kisses are nothing like Selina’s or any of the boys and girls Bruce had shared vodka flavored kisses with during his party days. Selina’s kisses had been soft and gentle, shy in the way that all first few kisses were, and while he can’t exactly remember all the kisses from the clubs and the parties, he knows they were nothing like this. Jerome is rough, his lips are scarred and ruined, and he bites and sucks and licks his tongue into Bruce’s mouth in the most vulgar of ways and makes the hungriest noises as he does so. It makes heat _burn_ in Bruce’s lower belly, and he makes the most embarrassing sound as Jerome bites him again. He can’t imagine how red his face must be right now. 

Probably as red as the blood staining Jerome’s gloves. Red as the blood cooling on the floor nearby. Red as the inflamed, blistered skin on Jerome’s jaw. 

Bruce takes in a wet gasp when Jerome finally breaks away, panting embarrassingly heavily as Jerome moves down to his neck. 

"Nobody ever helped me," Jerome repeats from somewhere around his throat. “And then here you come, barging in here, looking like you’re determined enough to tear the world apart if my uncle didn’t have that meathead let me go.” His scarred lips tickle Bruce's skin and he can't help but shiver. "My little hero, my _savior_ ," He purrs, pressing his lips harder against Bruce's flesh. "My _precious_ boy. There must be something truly _wrong_ with you for you to want to save someone like me, after everything I’ve done." He rubs his lips against Bruce’s throat as if he’s searching for something and he makes a pleased sound when he seems to find it. His tongue drags across Bruce’s skin, hot and wet, and Bruce’s heart hammers against his chest. The edge of the table digs sharply into his lower back as Jerome presses even closer to him. 

"Jerome-" 

Bruce cuts off with a sharp inhale when Jerome's hand suddenly grasps his half hard cock through his pants. 

"Even so, I think you deserve a reward." 

“And what-” Bruce whimpers, twitching as Jerome gives him a squeeze. “-what is it that you have in mind?”  
  
"Well," Jerome starts, moving his hand away from Bruce's dick, and Bruce isn't sure if he's relieved or disappointed to lose the contact. He doesn't lament on it long though, as Jerome's hand moves up to grab one of his wrists, his other hand following shortly. Bruce’s fingers twitch. Jerome’s hands are so large. They easily encircle Bruce’s wrists, hold them so tightly. He knows Jerome is strong, he’d learned that long ago, but being hit by these hands is a much different sensation than feeling them around his wrists. Jerome could easily, so easily, snap Bruce’s wrists like twigs, like a baby bird’s bones, and it makes something burn hot inside of him.

"I don't know if my hand on your dick was any clue or not, but I'm gonna make you feel good, Brucie. Real good. I promise you that." He finishes as he pulls Bruce away from the table, turns them around, and Bruce goes with him, unable to help but feel like he should get away while he can. 

If he even can. 

His heartbeat ticks up and he bites his lip as Jerome continues. "No other reward seems fitting, to me at least. It's what pretty boys like you deserve." He pauses before jerking his head in the direction of Zachary's crony nearby. "Unless you want me to, I don't know, cut his heart out and give it to you? Cause I mean, I can do that, if you'd like. Maybe even cut his head off and put it on that cake display over there." 

Bruce's face twists and his nose scrunches in disgust. He pulls at his wrists. "I think I'll pass on that, thank you. Save the corpse desecration for some other special occasion." 

Jerome huffs a laugh. "Will do. Now... where was I?" He seems to seriously consider his own words, as if he actually forgot and Bruce feels his eye twitch. 

He pulls at his wrists again. 

That seems to get Jerome's attention, because he grins at Bruce and raises his eyebrows and says, "Oh! I remember." Jerome steps them away from the booth -- distantly Bruce feels like he's being led in a dance he didn't totally agree to -- and then Bruce doesn't have time to react before he's suddenly being pushed backwards. His feet slip and skid on the bloody tiles, coming out from under him and sending him down. He lands hard with a sharp yelp as his head cracks painfully against the floor, scattering stars behind his eyes and dazing him. It takes him a moment to recover, and he hisses sharply as he lifts his head, blinking open his eyes and moving a hand behind his head to run through his hair. There’s a tender spot that makes him hiss again and when he pulls his hand away there’s blood on his fingers. He glances to his left. 

He’s not sure if it’s his blood.

Zachary’s corpse is only a few feet away, his eyes still wide open and the bullet hole in his head still sluggishly leaking blood. The pool of blood has run down the tiles and, grimly, Bruce realizes he’s probably laying in it. His stomach lurches at the thought. 

“Whoops.” Jerome says as he trails to where Bruce lay prone on the floor. Bruce doesn’t have time to try and scramble up before Jerome is straddling him, his thighs bracketing Bruce’s hips, and not for the first time Bruce is reminded just how large Jerome is compared to him. 

If his head wasn’t currently feeling like it was splitting open, he’d probably appreciate it more. 

“Sorry about that.” He doesn’t sound sorry at all. Jerome reaches out and grabs Bruce’s hand, pulling it up to his face and pressing his lips against Bruce’s bloody fingers in a dramatic pout. “Bet that hurt, huh? Poor baby. Want me to kiss it and make it better?” 

Bruce yanks his hand away, ignoring how Jerome’s pout worsens. “If your plan was to make me feel good, then I’m sorry to tell you, but you’re doing a horrible job.” He says dryly.

Jerome chuckles at the show of attitude, his hands resting on Bruce’s stomach momentarily before he slowly rubs them upwards. Bruce’s heartbeat kicks up again. “Aw, don’t be like that, darlin'. I promised to make you feel good, didn’t I?” One of Jerome’s hands stays at his ribs, while the other continues it’s ascent upwards. 

“You did, but you’ll have to excuse me if I feel like your methods currently leave a lot to desire.” 

“All in good time, Brucie. All in good time.” 

He continues his exploration of Bruce’s chest. His hand slips over Bruce’s collarbone and up to his throat, and Bruce can feel his heartbeat kick up. He wonders if Jerome can feel it. 

The tip of Jerome’s finger slowly runs across his throat, and Bruce looks up at him from under his eyelashes. Jerome hasn’t moved, his thighs still bracketing Bruce’s hips, and he looks down at Bruce with an expression Bruce can’t quite place. He’s smiling, too wide, too large, as usual, but there’s a look in his eyes that says something that Bruce isn’t quite privy to. 

Jerome’s finger runs back over his throat and Bruce shivers, and when Jerome twitches and does it again it occurs to Bruce just what he’s touching. He can’t believe he’d almost forgotten, so caught up in the sensation of Jerome’s touch that he was. 

It’s the thin white line across his jugular, faded and just barely visible, left there all those years ago that night at the benefit. When Jerome had taken him and held a knife to his throat and left his mark on Bruce, connecting them even after Galavan betrayed him and Jerome was wheeled out in a body bag. Keeping them connected, tied and bound together through death itself. 

He would never admit to it, but in the dead of night when he couldn’t sleep, he’d always touch the scar. During the year he’d been dead, during his years alive and locked away in Arkham, Jerome had never been far from Bruce’s mind, no matter how much Bruce would love to pretend otherwise.

“I could still do it, you know. Slit this pretty pink throat of yours, watch all that delicious blue blood come pouring out.” His finger smooths over the scar again before the others join it until his entire hand rests against Bruce’s throat. Bruce’s pulse beats rapidly against Jerome’s palm and he meets his eyes.

“I know.” 

Jerome’s lips twitch upwards even further. It pulls at the forming blisters and Bruce can’t help but feel the slightest bit sympathetic. 

“I love that about you, Brucie. You never look as scared as you should be. It makes you _so_ much more fun than the rest of this city’s boring sheep.” His thumb twitches at the beginning of the scar. “Even so, I never will forget our first night together. My brave volunteer, a scared little sacrificial lamb, shaking like a leaf in my arms. So cute. So breakable.”

Jerome tilts his head and his grip on Bruce’s throat tightens just the slightest, just enough to send Bruce’s pulse thumping even harder. He makes a low sound when Bruce doesn’t even flinch. Jerome is right. He’s not afraid. He knows that he should be; any sane person should be terrified to have _Jerome Valeska’s_ hand around their throat. Faintly, he wonders what that says about him. 

“I’m not quite so breakable anymore.” Bruce protests softly, his voice only slightly strained thanks to Jerome’s hand. Physically, maybe he is, his earlier thoughts reflect that, but otherwise, not so much. He’s changed a lot since he was that scared little boy in a tuxedo. It would take more than Jerome to break him, even if he’d nearly succeeded the last time they’d seen each other.

“Oh, I know, don’t worry. You showed me that on our special night together at the carnival. What a feral thing you were, darlin'. All venom and blood-lust.” Jerome looks mesmerized at the memory. “You were _gorgeous_.” 

Bruce fights back a flinch. Gorgeous didn’t fit how he thought he’d looked that night. He’d hated the way he looked, hating seeing his reflection and not recognizing the person looking back at him. It was ugly, horrifying. He’d almost crossed a line that night and it would have been one he could have never come back from. The idea that Jerome had found him gorgeous when Bruce had thought he was at his most deplorable… well, he’s not sure how he feels about it. 

He doesn’t want to think about it any further. 

Jerome looks like he’s about to speak again but his attention is drawn when Bruce lifts his hands and places them on the outer of Jerome’s thighs. He pauses, like he’s not sure whether he enjoys Bruce’s hands on him when there isn’t violence behind them or not, then huffs out a laugh. “Feeling impatient, huh? Guess I can’t blame you. I remember what it was like to be a teenager. All those raging hormones sure suck, don’t they?” 

Bruce rolls his eyes at that and, wanting Jerome to just be _quiet_ for once, he reaches upwards and snags the front of Jerome’s shirt, pulling him down so he can crash their lips together once more. Jerome laughs into Bruce’s mouth -- because of course he does -- but he doesn’t refuse the kiss, unable to resist the chance to get Bruce’s blood on his tongue, no matter how little. 

Feeling bold, Bruce lets go of Jerome’s shirt to move his hands, impatiently pulling it from where it’s tucked into Jerome’s pants so that he can slide them up under it. He smooths his palms over Jerome’s skin everywhere he can -- he can’t hold back his moan of appreciation at what he feels; the V cut of his hips, the coarse hair under Jerome’s navel, the hard muscle he can feel under Jerome’s surprisingly soft skin, _fuck --_ and he shudders when Jerome growls into his mouth, shifting above him. 

Bruce continues his exploration, mapping his hands over as much skin as he can. As much as there is to appreciate, the amount of scars he can feel criss-crossing and dotting Jerome’s flesh tug heavily at his heart. There’s no telling what they’re from, whether they were from his countless acts of violence or from his stint in Arkham or God knows what else, but the knowledge of at least some of the abuse Jerome had suffered from his uncle pulls at his mind. 

_With Uncle Zach the beatings just never stopped._

Bruce’s hands slide to Jerome’s back, tracing over what feels suspiciously like a row of cigarette burn scars running parallel Jerome’s spine.

_Nobody ever helped me._

The sentences repeat in his mind and he can’t help but wonder; how many of these scars are from back then? How many of them are from Jerome’s own flesh and blood hurting him in ways that no family was ever supposed to? How many of them have been with Jerome since he was just a scared little boy? 

No matter how much it goes against his own morals, a quiet part of him is almost glad that Zachary Trumble is dead.

Almost.

As if sensing his mind wandering, Jerome bites into his lip again and Bruce whines against him. His hands move back to Jerome’s front and continue their journey, tracing up Jerome’s chest, squeezing the defined muscle there and he can feel more than hear Jerome’s muffled amusement as he, well- gropes him. 

He’d never gotten this far with Selina. Hadn’t gotten much further with anyone else. It makes him nervous, excited, painfully hard. 

Trailing his hands back down, he pauses. Under Jerome’s pecs, there’s scars there too but- they’re different. He smooths his thumbs across them, his brow furrowing. They’re too clean, too precise, too symmetrical to be scars from a fight or from a childhood injury. _Incision scars?_ He wonders. 

Jerome breaks the kiss after that, pulling away from Bruce. He licks his lips as if savoring the taste of Bruce’s mouth and titters. “Now, as much fun as it is to be felt up by a horny teenager, I’m kinda on a tight schedule here, kid. People to see, people to kill, you know how it is. So whaddya say we get this show on the road, hmm?” 

“And who is it that you plan on seeing after this?” It’s a weak attempt at trying to get in on Jerome’s plans, he knows this. He doesn’t really expect an answer but he tries anyway.

Jerome knows this too and he chuckles at Bruce, sliding down his legs so he can unzip Bruce’s slacks. “Why do you wanna know? You aren't _jealous_ , are you?” 

Bruce huffs. “No.”

“Uh-huh, sure. Nice try, but--” He hooks his fingers in the hem of them and yanks them down Bruce’s thighs to his knees, taking the briefs along with them and Bruce can’t help his sharp hiss as his hard cock is exposed to the cool air of the diner. It curves up against his belly, against the hem of his sweater. Jerome makes an appreciative noise and clicks his tongue, curling his fingers around Bruce’s cock and grinning at the soft sound he gets in return, “-- it wouldn’t be much of a _surprise_ if I told you, now would it? Don’t be a party pooper. Besides, you and I both know you’d just try and stop me, and as much fun as it is to play with you, Brucie, sometimes a man just wants things to go all according to plan. You’ll find out when the time comes, just have a little, uh, patience, would ya?” 

“I’ll- I’ll stop you. I won’t let you kill anyone else.” Bruce grits out through his teeth as Jerome’s gloved hand gives his cock a few strokes. It’s dry and the fabric of the glove makes it borderline painful, but the pain-pleasure mix is so _good_ that he can’t control how his hips rock into it. He’s never been touched like this before, never by anyone other than himself and it makes him lightheaded to know that the first person to do so has blood on his hands.

Literally and figuratively.

It should make him feel sick, knowing that a man’s blood is on the hand touching him so intimately, but right now he can’t find it in himself to care. He just wants more, _more, more, more_ \- whatever Jerome will give him Bruce will gladly take. 

“I’m sure you’ll try, darlin'. You’re too good, too virtuous, to stand by and let it all happen.” Jerome pauses. “Though, maybe _virtuous_ isn’t the right word for you right now. After all, here you are, all exposed and wanting, just for me. I wonder what Jimbo would think if he saw you like this, fallin’ to pieces under a _madman’s--”_ He says the word so condescendingly, mocking what Jim and Alfred and who knows how many other people had called him, “-- hands.” 

“Do you _ever_ shut up?” 

“No.” He says bluntly, before scoffing and adding, “Teenagers. So much attitude.” He rolls his eyes. But he does listen, surprisingly. He leans forward, opening his mouth and drooling over Bruce’s cock. Normally, Bruce would probably find that disgusting, but right now the added lubrication to Jerome’s touch makes his head spin.

He strokes Bruce like that for a little bit longer, the wet, rough friction on his cock making Bruce crack and splinter underneath of him. 

But then Jerome pauses just for a moment to pull his gloves off, and to Bruce it feels like the longest moment of his life. And then his hand is back, wrapping around his cock and Bruce can’t smother his desperate, high moan as Jerome resumes stroking him. It’s far better than the glove. It’s wet skin on skin, and the sensation of the calluses on Jerome’s palm and fingers makes Bruce warble out the most embarrassing sounds. 

“God, just look at you,” Jerome purrs, “You’re so fuckin’ hard for me. I’m flattered. I always knew you carried a bit of a flame for me.” He strokes Bruce’s cock from base to head, tight and slow, and Bruce’s fingers dig into the wet tiles at his sides, another moan falling from his lips. 

“Maybe a little.” He says quietly, breathlessly. 

Maybe a lot. 

Jerome didn’t need to know that he’d always made Bruce’s heart beat a little bit faster out of things aside from fear ever since the benefit. It’d really added a whole other layer of confusion to the endless confusing layers of teenage sexuality and puberty. If Jerome knew any of this it would go straight to his head and he’d never let it go and then Bruce would have to deal with that for who knows how long. 

It’s not long after that Jerome’s touch leaves him for a second time, and Bruce can’t hold back his miserable little whimper at the loss. Jerome hears it though and he looks horribly smug as he gets to his feet, standing over Bruce and yanking his shirt over his head and dropping it off on the floor. 

And _fuck_ , if the feel of Jerome’s chest had been wonderful, then the sight is even better. He’s muscular but not extremely so, just enough that Bruce can see the faint steel of muscle underneath his skin. Freckles and scars cover him, including the very faint ones under his pecs that are so familiar but Bruce can’t place them, and there’s an extremely alluring trail of ginger hair dusting under his belly button that spans down and disappears beneath his pants. 

He’s unfairly gorgeous but Bruce doesn’t have the mind to be insecure or jealous, he can only ogle. Jerome doesn’t call him out on it, surprisingly, but Bruce can see him practically preening at the staring. 

It’s almost cute, if cute were an applicable word for someone like Jerome.

His hands move downwards and Bruce’s heart speeds up as Jerome unbuttons his pants, unzips them, hurriedly pushes them down to his knees. The trail of hair that starts under Jerome’s belly leads down to a thick patch of ginger hair between his thighs-

And--

Well, the scars Bruce had felt on Jerome’s chest earlier made sense now. He feels a little stupid for not figuring it out sooner. 

“Oh.” Bruce says simply. 

“Surprise.” Jerome drawls, his too wide grin firmly in place and his tongue pinched mischievously between his teeth. 

“I didn’t- I had no idea.”

Jerome doesn’t look bothered. He shrugs, pushing his pants completely down his legs and kicking them and his shoes off to the side somewhere. He returns to his former spot, knees on either side of Bruce’s waist again, and looks at Bruce like he’s said something funny. “Well _duh_ , that’s kind of the whole point. You think I went through the effort of gettin’ all my old records torched for nothin’? I bet even good ol’ Jimbo doesn’t know.” 

He pushes Bruce’s sweater up to his neck, rubbing his hands appreciatively over Bruce’s skin, touching the faint hair on Bruce’s own belly, smooths his long fingers over piano-key ribs, rubs the tips of them over Bruce’s nipples, humming when Bruce’s breath catches at the touch. “Not gonna be a _problem_ for you, is it?” 

“Of course not.” Bruce affirms, squirming when Jerome’s fingers tease his nipples again. 

Jerome seems satisfied with the answer, because he leans over to press another kiss to Bruce’s lips and Bruce meets him eagerly. It’s soft until it’s not, turning open mouthed and heated while his hand returns to Bruce’s cock, giving it a few firm strokes as he sucks Bruce’s tongue into his mouth, all but purring when Bruce whines into his mouth. 

He doesn’t kiss him for very long, and soon he’s leaning back to where he was, but he doesn’t stop touching Bruce. 

“What a perfect boy you are, Bruce. Everything about you is just so _pretty._ Pretty pink cheeks, pretty pink lips, pretty pink throat, pretty pink nipples,” He pauses only to spit into his hand, reaching down and stroking it up Bruce’s dick afterwards. The slick sensation has Bruce whimpering loudly underneath of him. “And a pretty pink dick. You're a _collection_ of pretty boy parts, Bruce." He raises himself up higher, grasping Bruce’s dick and teasingly rubbing the head against his slick folds. Bruce throws his head back with a low, kittenish whine, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "And I can't wait to feel you inside of me."

“J-Jerome,” Bruce mewls, shallowly rutting his hips, needily trying to find relief. He feels Jerome shudder subtly above him. “Please- please. I need- _please._ ” It’s too much. It’s not enough. He’s so hard he feels like he could get off just from this, but he needs more. Jerome _promised_ him more. 

“What is it, baby?” Jerome croons. “What do you need?” 

“You,” Bruce whimpers, jerking his hips in a rough rut that has Jerome hissing quietly, “I need- I need _you_ , please. I can’t- I need to- to be..” He swallows, feeling his face heat up even more, if possible. _Inside of you._ He doesn’t know if he can say it, he’s already mortifyingly embarrassed for begging. 

Jerome grins down at him, looking like the cat that got the cream. “You need to be inside of me, is that it, darlin'? Is that what you need?” 

Bruce’s face is so warm he feels like even his ears are red at this point, but he nods. 

“I’m sorry, what was that? I couldn’t hear you.”  
  
Of course Jerome was going to make him say it. Of course. 

He wants to bury his face in his hands so badly, anything to hide his embarrassment, but he knows that if he does Jerome will only continue to tease him. Taking in a breath, he averts his eyes and manages to get out a soft, shy, “Yes.” He swallows and adds, shakily, “Yes. I need- I need to be… i-inside of you, Jerome. Please.” This was so embarrassing. He almost wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole so he wouldn’t have to hear himself say these things. 

It appears to be enough for Jerome, merciful for once in his life perhaps, because he hums appreciatively and lines Bruce’s cock up. 

“When you beg so prettily Bruce, how could I ever say no?” 

Jerome sinks down on him in one fluid motion and his low, raspy moan mingles in with Bruce’s soft cry. It takes everything in him not to come right then and there, forcing himself to think of anything that isn’t the tight, wet heat around his cock. Anything that isn’t Jerome. 

“Don’t you dare come yet. We’re just getting started.” 

Bruce whimpers loudly at that, biting his lip, quivering underneath Jerome. He’s never felt anything like this before. Nothing he’s ever done alone could ever compare to how Jerome feels around him. 

“You’re so fuckin’ cute,” Jerome sighs almost dreamily as he begins to move. “I don’t know why I put off doing this for so long.” 

“Probably because- because you spent so long trying to- to kill me.” Bruce gasps out, his hands snapping to Jerome’s moving hips. 

Jerome titters at that. “True, that’s true. But just think about how much fun we could have been having if I’d done this earlier?” He rotates his hips on a downward thrust and Bruce’s mind trips over itself. “Fuck- just imagine it, Brucie. You fucking me while you held that glass to my throat. Seein' us in the broken mirrors as you gave it to me.”   
  
Bruce doesn’t want to think about it, but he does. Bruce doesn’t want to acknowledge that it sends a hot burst of heat to his belly, but it does. 

“You-- shit, yeah, that’s right, move your hips, just like that -- you coming inside of me as you drove it into my throat. Painting you in my blood as you filled me up.” His laugh hitches on a moan. “It would have been so _beautiful_.” 

It doesn’t sound beautiful to Bruce, not to his mind and not to his heart, but it doesn’t stop him from moaning, the idea going straight to his cock. He knows he’ll feel guilty for it later, but right now it’s probably one of the hottest things he’s ever heard. 

Jerome chuckles airily. “Yeah, I knew you’d agree.” 

He’s not exactly quiet after that, but he doesn’t really say anything more, seemingly too caught up in riding Bruce like it was the only thing in the world he cared about. 

It doesn’t last long. It’s only been a few minutes, a few minutes filled with their gasps and pants and moans and Jerome’s raspy under breath cussing, but he speaks again. 

“I’m so glad I got to be your first,” He breathes as he rakes his nails down Bruce’s chest and belly, leaving red scores in their wake. Not quite enough to draw blood but enough for Bruce to feel it, enough to where they would surely still be there hours later. “It’s only fitting. Do ya know why?” 

He sinks back down on Bruce and _grinds_ , like he’s trying to imprint the shape and feel of Bruce inside of him. It’s possessive and animalistic and it makes Bruce’s head spin. His hands quiver where they lay on Jerome’s hips and he sinks his nails in to ground himself, at least a little. 

“Enlighten me.” He pants, cracking his eyes open to look up at Jerome. 

Jerome’s expression is intense and Bruce isn’t quite sure how to read it. He looks like he wants to tear Bruce apart. He looks like he wants to eat Bruce up. He looks like he wants to burn the whole fucking world down and paint Bruce with the ashes. He looks like he wants to steal Bruce away and keep him only for himself. 

It fills Bruce’s chest and lights him on fire even as it trickles dread and fear down his spine. 

Jerome grinds again, his eyelids fluttering momentarily before he focuses on Bruce again, and he leans over Bruce, one of his hands slowly trails upwards while the other presses to the blood soaked tiles around Bruce’s shoulder. It slides up his belly, his chest, pauses briefly at his neck to rub his thumb over that same scar, before it settles against Bruce’s cheek. His thumb strokes over Bruce’s lower lip and Bruce can’t help but lean into the touch like a kitten starved of affection, which, in some ways, he could guess he was. 

“Because this is how it’s meant to be, Bruce. Because you’re mine.” He says, and his tone has lost all forms of humor. It’s blunt, honest, and Bruce knows that he means every word that he’s saying. “You’re mine,” He repeats, starting to move his hips again, raising himself up and down on Bruce’s cock in a deep, slow rhythm that has Bruce’s eyes rolling into his head. He tries to meet Jerome’s movements but his thrusts are jerky and uneven, inexperienced, but Jerome doesn’t seem to mind judging by the way he curses and loses his line of thought for the moment to slur Bruce’s name, followed by a string of praises. 

Bruce doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out. 

Jerome seems to find his head again moments later, even as he picks up the pace, and Bruce couldn’t hold back his moans even if he wanted to. 

“You belong to me.” Jerome starts, sounding a hell of a lot less composed than he had before. “Only to me.” He readjusts his hands, moving them to Bruce’s belly as he fixes his position, sitting back so that he can ride Bruce even faster, even deeper. Bruce’s brain feels like slurry. “Not to any of the little rich, aristocratic _whores_ that try to claw their way into your pants and into your wallet,” Jerome continues, “Not to that little street rat _bitch_ that thinks she owns you, not to anyone but _me._ ” 

Jerome’s nails dig into his belly and he can feel his skin split under the pressure. Blood wells up under Jerome’s nails and Bruce cusses weakly. It hurts so _good_. 

“Say it, Bruce. _Say it._ Say you’re mine.” 

Bruce doesn’t have it in him to resist. “Yours,” He slurs. “I’m yours. Only- only yours.” 

He can feel Jerome shudder. 

It’s the truth, the whole truth. Jerome has owned him since the benefit, since he left that mark on Bruce’s throat. Owned him in soul and now in body. 

“Good boy, good boy, you’re such a good boy, Bruce. Pretty and perfect and _good._ ” Jerome praises, and it makes Bruce burn so hot he could cry. He feels like he’s going to. 

“Are you gonna come, darlin'? It’s okay. C’mon, come inside me. Fill me up good, baby.” Jerome coaxes breathlessly, picking up his pace so that he’s all but bouncing on Bruce’s cock. It all sounds so obscene. The wet sounds of Jerome sinking down on him over and over, the _smack, smack_ of their sweaty skin colliding-

Close. Closecloseclose-

“Jerome- _Jerome_ -” 

Jerome looks him in the eye, and his eyes are so tender, so adoring, so possessive, so heated-

“Come for me, Bruce.” 

Bruce falls apart. 

He comes with a loud, shaking cry that echoes in the empty diner, his nails breaking the skin of Jerome’s hips as he thrusts upwards once, twice, before falling into quivering pieces. A heavy sob leaves him and he can feel that his eyelashes are wet. 

His brain is full of static and in the background he can hear Jerome slurring and warbling a strain of, “good boy, good boy, _yeah,_ that’s it, come in me, oh- oh, _fuck, fuck, Bruce-_ ” Bruce cracks his eyes open to watch Jerome as he sinks down on his cock one last time and grinds, curling over him, moaning reedily and tensing around him so tight that Bruce can’t help but sob again, the sensation too much for his already overstimulated body. 

It’s quiet after that, for the most part. 

The thick air of the diner, heavy with the smell of blood and sweat and sex, is only broken by the sound of his and Jerome’s ragged panting. Bruce’s mind feels like soup and his body feels loose, boneless. He barely reacts as one of Jerome’s hands strokes across his cheek again. It’s gentle, so gentle, and his heart flutters in his chest.

It’s nice, he thinks, the two of them like this. He could get used to this and quietly he hopes that this won’t be his first and last time with Jerome. 

The quiet moment doesn’t last long. 

Jerome moves off of him, Bruce’s now soft cock sliding out of him with a filthy sound, and he notes with a little pulse of pride that Jerome wobbles a little as he gets to his feet over-top of him. Until he gets an eyeful of what’s starting to run down Jerome’s thighs and his face flushes again. It’s a lewd sight, his come sliding out of Jerome, and he feels the slightest stir of arousal in his belly, even though he’s just come. 

Jerome follows his line of sight and barks a laugh. “Like what ya see?” 

“Maybe I do.” Bruce mumbles and Jerome laughs again.

Bruce’s eyes tiredly follow Jerome as he picks his way over Zachary’s body to snatch up his pants where they’d landed. Seeing Jerome bend over, still naked as the day he was born, his ass reddened from the force of his riding and Bruce’s come coating his thighs, stirs desire in him again and faintly he wonders when- if this happens again, if Jerome will let him bend him over something. Maybe over his desk back at the manor. He feels his cock twitch at the thought. 

He pushes the thought aside for later. 

Jerome comes back over to him then, zipping up his pants as he does so. He’s gotten his shoes on too but his gloves and his shirt are still gone. Not that Bruce is complaining, not at all. Jerome’s chest on display, all pale skin and freckles and ginger hair sprinkled here and there.. it’s something Bruce could never complain about. 

Jerome looks down at him and Bruce can’t help it, he has to know, “Did I… did I do okay? I’ve never, um, I’ve never done that before.” He feels a momentary flash of embarrassment-shame when Jerome huffs a laugh, but it goes away when Jerome leans down and runs his fingers through Bruce’s hair.

“Oh, Bruce,” Jerome says in a breathy, satisfied sigh, “you did wonderful. I’m proud of you.” He pulls Bruce’s wrinkled sweater back down his body with the same hand. “You could never do just ‘okay’ when it comes to you and I. You always exceed my expectations.” 

The praise makes Bruce’s cheeks darken even further. “Okay.” He pauses, bites his lip, averts his eyes and adds. “You um, you did great too.” 

Jerome snorts at that as he stands back up, and Bruce ignores his cheeky little, “Thanks, darlin',” as he musters up the energy to tug up his briefs and pants. He flops back to the floor after that, grimacing at how badly his sweater is sticking to his back. It’s not just sweat, but for right now he doesn’t want to think about it. He'll worry about it when he gets home.

Jerome considers him for a moment, an amused glint in his eyes and Bruce looks up at him. “What?” 

“Oh, nothin'. Just taking in the view.” He grabs his shirt off the floor and pulls back on, and Bruce likesloveshates the smug, too wide grin. “Wonderin' if you’re goin' to get up anytime soon.” 

Bruce closes his eyes and limply waves his hand. “I’m good here for now.” 

When he opens his eyes again, Jerome is looking down at a napkin in his hand with an odd look that Bruce can’t place. It slithers down his spine and curls in his stomach and he doesn’t know why, but he knows that that look doesn’t mean anything good. He doesn’t like it. 

“What’s that?” 

Jerome glances at him quickly, then he’s stuffing the napkin into his pocket. He taps it. “Nothing for you to worry about, Bruce. Nothing at all.” He grins. “You’ll find out soon enough, anyway.” 

Bruce feels very much like Their Moment has passed. 

The disappointment must show on his face because Jerome crouches again, smooths his hand over Bruce’s cheek and up into his hair, stroking his fingers through the sweaty curls like he had before. He still doesn’t have his gloves on. “Don’t frown so hard, baby. You’re too cute for that.” He goes silent momentarily, just touching Bruce like he’s amazed that he can and Bruce kind of wants to kiss him, but it’s over soon. Too soon, if you ask Bruce. 

Jerome pets him one last time before pulling his hand away. “Now, I hate to fuck and run, I do, but I’m a busy man, Brucie. Like I said, I got things to do. So I gotta go.” He stands up again and Bruce lifts his head to watch him walk to the diner door. Jerome puts his hand on the glass -- he _still_ doesn’t have his gloves -- and throws a look at Bruce over his shoulder. 

“Don’t miss me too hard, darlin'. You’ll be seein’ me again _real_ soon.” He winks and crows a lazy, “Ciao!” as he leaves. The door dings loudly as it opens and then shuts behind him. 

Bruce sighs and rests his head back against the floor. He’ll get up soon, but for right now, he needs a moment to just.. take it all in. 

The diner is quiet with Jerome gone, and Bruce is so, so relaxed, even for all the confusion that Jerome stirs inside of him. He can’t believe he lost his virginity on a bloody diner floor, can’t believe he lost it to a criminal, can’t believe he lost it to _Jerome Valeska,_ of all people. Despite this, he feels like he’s floating on cloud nine. 

That is, until a familiar voice pierces the diner air and makes him freeze. 

“What,” Selina begins, “the _fuck_ happened here?” 

**Author's Note:**

> how did jerome get top surgery? how did he get T? hell if i know. is jeremiah trans too? shrugs. i dunno man, i just wanted some porn because there's literally no trans jerome fics and bottom jerome fics are scarce. 
> 
> i have a bunch of other drafts to finish and i hope to have another fic up in the next few days, but we'll have to see. for now i hope you guys enjoyed this :)
> 
> comments and kudos are appreciated xx


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